Chapter 3
Standing there on the gravel drive watching the dust settle from their departure, Eliza felt a flicker of sadness staring around the cosy cottage that she had been so sure was going to be her and Henry’s starter home.
Nope. She needed to shut down this train of thought and get a grip.
There was no point looking back at what could have been.
She had to move on. Because if by any chance she did have the option to hook up with a hot man residing in rural Farmington, she wanted Henry to be green with envy.
Revenge was always best served ice cold, with a side of glow-up energy.
Tears would quite frankly ruin the effect.
So she pulled up a note on her phone and jotted down the most effective ways to enter high vibration to attract everything you want in life – i.e.
a six-foot single man up for a searingly hot few months of revenge sex.
First off, romanticise your life – so she drank another cup of tea whilst sitting in her sweet little kitchen with its artisan wall tiles, admiring the beautiful bouquet of flowers whilst balancing on a decidedly rocky bar stool.
Check! Next up, get outside and get some endorphins, get your blood pumping.
This wasn’t such a bad recommendation, because with nearly five hours of daylight left, she knew if she stayed in her kitchen any longer, Marjorie’s cake wouldn’t survive until teatime.
It was midday, and what was more romantic than a country walk?
Digging through her piles of bags she unearthed her pink Hunter wellies, immediately remembering how unbearable they’d been the only other time she’d worn them – at some dreadful wine festival where she’d got stupendously drunk.
But needs must, so she yanked them on. She was not willing to sacrifice her white trainers any more than she had to!
She then threw together an outfit that she deemed not too urban, but not too rural.
The cashmere hat and faux fur coat casually slung over her shoulders were the perfect mix.
She didn’t want to look like a wannabe country bumpkin on day one, but complete city slicker felt equally off.
Realising she was totally overthinking it all, she dabbed on some lip balm and set off.
She walked for what felt like miles, but after checking her Fitbit she realised it was only seven hundred and fifty steps.
How could that be? Maybe it was harder to walk in the country in all the sticky mud.
She carried on regardless, struck by how empty and quiet everywhere was.
She was amazed that it was so silent, and she could actually hear the birds tweeting away.
No traffic jams, just air to breathe! Still, it was also a little bit eerie: if she vanished here, who’d know where to start looking for her?
If they found her body one day, no one would even know who she was!
Deciding that was a little morbid and dramatic even for her, Eliza refocused on the walk.
She noticed she was approaching a bridge crossing a little river, which might well have been linked to the river she’d crossed earlier, or it could be completely different; she really had no idea, and her repeated failure of her Geography A level was not going to help her.
Standing on the bridge looking out over the water, she took a moment to breathe in the fresh air and think.
Since the break-up, her emotions had swung from anguish to rage to sheer desperation to wanting to run away.
Everyone would know by now, that was for certain.
Julian wouldn’t have been able to keep the scandal quiet.
She could imagine the staff room gossip that following Monday – and she knew if it hadn’t been her it had happened to, she would have been fully involved in it.
But after walking out on the biggest event of the year, it had just seemed easier to quit her job than to face the shame.
Starting to seethe, Eliza reminded herself what a fucking idiot Henry was, and how all her friends had hated him.
Feeling another wave of tears coming, Eliza buried her face in her hands and took deep breaths.
She refused to cry over that bastard for the second, okay fifth, time in the space of one morning.
Just then she heard a splash. Looking around she couldn’t see a duck or a swan in sight.
Or come to that a fish, either. She had heard from the estate agent that this was a river famed for its trout fishing, but she couldn’t see any.
Then something in the distance caught her eye – it looked like a little black dot on the water.
She squinted, trying to make it out, unsure whether maybe otters lived in these waters?
She really had no idea about birds or nature – maybe she should get a book, that would fill some time.
Walking to the end of the bridge and leaning against a tree, she wondered if, on closer inspection, it might be a person.
She didn’t want to be caught spying. It was too soon for people to think she was a complete weirdo – it was only her first day in Farmington.
But maybe someone was wild swimming! That seemed to be all the rage at the moment, and imagine if she had some right on her doorstep.
That and an awesome flat white would stop those snotty Londoners dead in their tracks – no traipsing across the city to find a natural lido for her!
While swimming was not her forte, and the thought of slipping on any form of swimwear this early in spring was a highly unappealing prospect, she was still totally prepared to embrace country life for the next three months.
And given what she had seen so far, everyone seemed to keep themselves pretty fit around here.
Her neighbour was doing downward dog on the regular, and surely there had to be a few more active villagers to meet – with any luck this time they’d be more age-appropriate.
She just had to manifest it, that was all.
She watched as the black head disappeared beneath the surface, then reappeared several yards further away.
It was definitely a swimmer, and a bloody brave one at that, as the water must be freezing.
As the figure in the water came slightly closer, Eliza could make out broad shoulders breaking the surface of the water with each powerful stroke – this person could really swim.
She shifted her position slightly behind the tree, suddenly self-conscious that some passerby might catch her spying, but she was equally unwilling to walk away.
She glanced at her watch and realised she had been standing there for nearly five minutes, which even by her standards was starting to feel a bit stalkerish.
But just as she was about to continue her walk, the swimmer made for the riverbank about thirty yards downstream from her.
She caught a glimpse of the shoulders emerging from the water, followed by a muscular back.
Definitely male. Then another look. Definitely not wearing a wetsuit.
‘Bloody hell,’ muttered Eliza to herself, ‘who the hell is that?’
Maybe Agatha was right, cheating bastard boyfriend and strangely concerning debt aside, she might just land on her feet after all.
Peeking back out from behind the tree, she watched him reach for a towel hanging on a nearby branch, and then dry himself with extraordinary vigour, before wrapping the towel around his waist. Eliza couldn’t help but notice how the cold water seemed to glisten on his tanned skin, which proceeded to highlight every single muscle on his body.
She should just walk away, but there was something mesmerising about watching this very hot stranger in his private ritual, emerging from the water like some rural Poseidon.
Then he turned slightly, which gave her a partial view of his profile.
She noted his strong jawline and tousled dark hair that was standing on end.
She wondered if perhaps he was just the archetypal rugged country type that populated this part of the world.
If that was so, she wished someone had told her sooner.
This was the kind of scene that belonged in a period drama, not her mundane life.
He pulled on a pair of well-worn jeans – no underwear – then reached up for his plaid shirt, which was hanging on another branch, giving her another fantastic view of his abs.
She thanked every god that he was still unaware of her presence.
But then he turned and started walking towards her.
Fuck FUCK, she thought, hide, start walking, do something.
Knowing she couldn’t be standing there when he finally appeared, she started walking back the way she had come, giggling in silent hysterical gulps to herself.
Do not look back, she thought, if he’s behind you, then you cannot make eye contact with him, and you certainly don’t want to get caught up in a conversation with him now, not when you have just seen his naked taut arse.
She focused on putting one foot in front of the other, trying as hard as she could to remember the way she had come.
After a few minutes of strolling defiantly forwards, refusing to look back whilst clenching her butt cheeks with every step, assuming he was behind her, she realised it all sounded very quiet.
She allowed herself a quick glance and realised to her relief he was nowhere to be seen.
She stopped for a more prolonged look, but no, he was definitely not there.
Where had he gone? There didn’t seem to be any other way off the path, so he must have gone in the other direction.